We Hate Each Other, But It Started With a One-Night Stand - Chapter 6

As dusk approached, Hatano continued typing on a keyboard in a dimly lit room, the letters on the keys now unreadable.

It had already been quite some time since she had let that girl stay over at her place. A week had passed since then, and until today, she had practically no chance to meet Shinomiya. While a small part of her was concerned about the girl, it was also true that she felt no real motivation to take any action herself.

So, she just kept writing her novel. Even if no one would ever evaluate it, she wrote for the sake of having someone evaluate it someday.

Within the text, Hatano gazed at a second-rate striker, grappling with anguish and inner conflict, struggling endlessly.

He had started playing soccer in elementary school, together with a childhood friend who lived nearby. From then on, through elementary, middle, and high school, he continued playing soccer in the same place, within the same organization.

Both the protagonist and his childhood friend continued to shine brilliantly, even being called the “Twin Wings,” but that nickname only lasted until midway through middle school. The further the team advanced, the more exceptional players they encountered. The only one who managed to overcome that wall was his childhood friend.

The ordinary boy, who should have been in the same environment and put in the same effort, realized that his childhood friend, who should have been right beside him, was now somewhere far ahead, out of sight. And so, in high school soccer, where he painfully felt the gap in talent and ability, the protagonist whose skills were recognized as just slightly above average secured a regular spot. He continued to form the two-top attack with his childhood friend, just as before.

And everyone compared the two of them.

No one acknowledged him; no one had any expectations. Even so, the protagonist, on the verge of crumbling, refused to break and continued to struggle. And in the end, his efforts would be rewarded as he held the key to victory—

“——”

Hatano’s hands came to a complete stop.

On the screen, beyond the text. The protagonist had just scored the game-winning goal, but that world had come to a complete halt. Something was missing. This work, which depicted the simplistic theme and message that “effort is rewarded,” certainly covered the important aspects expected of a sports story. But merely covering the necessary parts was only enough to ensure it would be buried.

A protagonist tormented by inferiority, whose efforts went unrewarded, who was expected by no one yet refused to break, leading his team to a comeback victory in the end. Even such a success story felt somewhat clichéd. She wanted just one thing: a distinctive quality she could be proud of in this work.

If all she was going to depict were the pretty, idealistic things everyone preached, a picture book would be far more suitable for the masses.

After pondering for a while, Hatano let out a deep sigh. Then, she opened a text file for notes, cut the last several tens of thousands of characters with a swift motion, and pasted them in.

After saving the main text file a few times, Hatano completely removed her hands from the keyboard and mouse. Leaning her forehead on her hand, she swayed gently in her swivel chair.

She had wanted to write a bit more, but she had already been at her desk for three hours. Her concentration was fading, and it wouldn’t be a bad idea to rework the plot at this natural stopping point. Should she lose herself in thought, or maybe watch a movie? Or perhaps go for a walk to clear her head. Just as Hatano thought this, Shinomiya’s figure suddenly crossed her mind.

The sulky expression she had shown that night last week.

While Hatano despised that self-destructive way of life—flirting with everyone, opening her legs, trying to ensnare others with sex and cheapen herself. The glimpse of her true nature she had inadvertently seen made her appear like a lonely girl seeking companionship, making Hatano feel she couldn’t just leave her be.

She knew she was being naive and overly kind, but the fact that she hadn’t contacted the girl herself showed that this kindness was only superficial, and she was aware that she herself was nothing more than a hypocrite.

After a brief moment of hesitation, Hatano muttered to herself as if convincing herself.

“Just going for a walk.”

Yes, just going for a walk. She wasn’t expecting to find the girl at some bar she might wander into, nor was she hoping she wouldn’t be anywhere.

She liked neon lights.

Many of the establishments that operate at night aren’t praised by society as wholesome, yet many of those who run them do so with pride. Those who frequent such places are like moths drawn to that passion—or perhaps they really are just moths. With the feeling of an insect drawn to a light trap, Hatano strolled through the station front as night fell.

Taking a deep breath of the autumn night air, she caught a faint scent of alcohol.

Even though this was supposed to be an aimless walk, she found herself peering through the windows of izakaya she passed, searching for the girl’s figure. Each time she confirmed she wasn’t there, she felt a slight relief mixed with loneliness. She didn’t feel any friendship, romance, or affection for the girl, but if she had to compare it—yes, it was like the impulse to stop someone who, with a desperate look, was about to climb over a rooftop railing. An impulse to deny a way of life that endorsed such means, even if she didn’t truly wish for it from the bottom of her heart.

Hatano continued walking quietly, meandering. Just as she was about to pass by the side of a convenience store, a familiar voice called out to her.

“Hey.”

She recognized that voice, laced with a mocking sort of amusement.

Hatano stopped in her tracks without thinking, raising her eyebrows in surprise as she looked at the person.

“Shindo.”

“Out for a walk? That’s rare.”

Tall, handsome, with a slender build. In his hand was a plastic bag containing alcohol and snacks. Probably heading somewhere to drink. A member of the university’s literary club and a childhood friend of Shijima, he raised a hand with a light smile, in contrast to Hatano’s surprised expression.

“Looking for someone?”

As soon as they stepped slightly away from the bustling streets, the foot traffic thinned. Next to the garbage bins of a convenience store, its fluorescent lights illuminating the parking lot, Hatano sipped a warm canned coffee. Shindo, heating his e-cigarette and quietly replenishing his nicotine, asked his question. Shinomiya flashed through Hatano’s mind.

Averting her eyes from the mental image of the girl, Hatano muttered curtly, “No.”

“Just walking. Hit a wall.”

“With your novel?”

“Yeah, unfortunately, it’s just an amateur thing. Can’t keep going for hours on end.”

Hatano took a bitter sip of coffee, watching her shadow stretch under the fluorescent light. Beside her, Shindo, letting the nicotine reach his head, savored his dwindling smoking time in the designated area and murmured, “I see.”

“About the literary club after you quit…”

“Same as always, right?”

“Oh, you heard?”

“Just not conceited. Unless you, or Shijima or maybe Shinomiya—leave, nothing will change. My role in that group was to be the minority.”

Shindo took out some kaki no tane snacks from his plastic bag and tossed them to Hatano. “Don’t waste them,” he chided, and he shrugged with a “Sorry.” As Hatano thanked him, took out a peanut, and tossed it into her mouth, Shindo began to speak.

“…Shijima seemed lonely, you know. The tiny bit of novel-related stuff that was left is gone now. That guy has no chance to talk about novels there anymore. Poor guy.”

“If you think so, why don’t you write a novel? You’re childhood friends, right?”

“Sorry, but I have zero interest in novels. I only read manga, see?”

Shindo smoked without a hint of remorse, and Hatano couldn’t bring herself to blame him.

If he wasn’t acting for Shijima’s sake, then he was probably only in the club for the girls. As she was thinking this, Shindo spoke up as if seeing right through her.

“‘Just joined for the girls, you lecher’—that’s what you want to say, right?”

“Correct. Just joined for the girls, you lecher.”

“Correct. I am a lecher who joined for the girls.”

Glancing sideways at Shindo, who puffed out his chest without any intention of hiding or apologizing, Hatano sighed. She didn’t think it was necessarily a bad thing, but she felt sorry for Shijima. As she was thinking this, Shindo suddenly began to speak as if he’d just casually thought of something. “…Yeah.”

When she looked at him, wondering what he meant, he grinned and started talking.

“You’re an outsider now, so I’ll tell you something interesting.”

“Setting the bar high yourself, aren’t you? Even top comedians don’t call their own routines funny.”

“Not ‘funny,’ but ‘interesting.’ And I’ll throw in a little story too. Someone like you might find it particularly intriguing.”

Impressed by his self-imposed high bar, Hatano grew interested in his confident words. If he was going this far, the topic probably had at least some connection to her. She murmured “Huh,” showing her interest.

“Tips on picking up girls?”

“Nah, the reason I joined this club.”

Hatano was puzzled. Hadn’t he just said himself it was for the girls?

Seeing her skeptical, furrowed brow, Shindo nodded triumphantly.

“Like I said before, it’s true I joined for the girls. But it’s not like I’m interested in any girl biologically or gender-identifying as female. There’s someone specific I’m after.”

He specified an individual as the reason for his ‘girl-chasing,’ and that was why he joined the literary club. In other words, among the female members of the club, there was someone he was targeting. Considering his womanizing tendencies, it wasn’t surprising, but she was surprised he was that serious about someone. However, if that was the case, the candidates were limited.

“Take a guess.”

Faced with the challenging grin and the riddle Shindo presented, only one answer came to mind.

Feeling like she was redoing elementary school math, Hatano answered.

“Shinomiya.”

“Correct!”

What is this farce? A bit of a letdown and a sigh. As she was thinking of heading home in exasperation, Shindo, seeing Hatano’s expression of waning interest, continued, “—or so I’d like to say.” Hatano frowned at his deliberately dramatic phrasing, reminiscent of quiz show hosts from years past.

“It’s correct, but probably also incorrect.”

“Huh? Be clear, quizmaster.”

“Hold on, calm down. Suppose I asked, ‘What do I love?’ and you answered ‘Apple.’ That’s technically correct, but the Malus domestica apple you imagined is the wrong answer. The real correct answer is the world-class singer-songwriter, Shiina Ringo. In other words, that’s what’s going on here.”

Apart from learning he loved Shiina Ringo, Hatano didn’t get much from that.

But she vaguely understood. The answer “Shinomiya” was correct, but it wasn’t the Shinomiya from the literary club that Hatano imagined. It must be a different person related to her.

Having gotten a bit serious, Hatano began exploring the remaining possibilities.

And she presented the most likely one.

“Shinomiya’s… sister?”

Answering as if asking, Shindo curved his lips into a thin arc.

“Correct.”

Ah, so he was trying to get close from the periphery, looking for an opening to get in. Understanding this, Hatano was surprised by the unexpected answer and, at the same time, became interested in the fact that that Shinomiya had siblings. What were her family members like? How did they view her current way of life?

She had said she lived alone, but how did that factor in?

Her interest was piqued, and she was annoyed to find herself feeling exactly as he said—’interested.’ Glancing at the irritated Hatano with a look of superiority, Shindo continued.

“To be precise, Shinomiya’s older sister. She was actually my classmate in middle and high school—I fell for her in middle school and followed her all the way to high school. But graduation season came before she ever looked my way. Of course, I aimed for the same university, but this was my limit.”

Shindo shrugged. Even so, the university they both attended boasted a considerable academic standard, externally considered a ‘good place.’ For him to say it was still impossible gave a hint of how exceptional Shinomiya’s sister must be.

“She must be really good at studying, it seems.”

“You’d think so, right?”

Even as she voiced the impression derived from the available information, he responded with a negative tone. Wondering if that wasn’t it, she searched his expression for his true meaning. He gave a wry smile and muttered.

“Studying is trivial. Her true calling is as an artist.”

An artist. Not someone you encounter often in daily life. In Hatano’s circle, at most, Shijima dabbled in the art of novel writing. Even then, whether you’d call entertainment novels ‘art’ was debatable. Anyway, it was an unfamiliar title.

“Is she in art school?”

“Nah, a regular, super high-level science program. But as an artist, she’s top-class.”

Unfamiliar with the art world, Hatano didn’t fully grasp it, but she couldn’t imagine someone active as a top-class artist while belonging to a top university as an ordinary person. So, it seemed Shinomiya’s sister was an incredible human being.

As she was thinking this, Shindo began operating his smartphone. When she glanced over to see what he was doing, he seemed to have found what he was looking for. “Oh, here it is,” he said, tossing his phone to Hatano. Catching it without issue, Hatano looked at the screen.

“…An online news article?”

It was a news article. Under a headline like “Rokai, NY Solo Exhibition—” there was a single photo.

In it, a foreigner who appeared to be an important figure in an expensive suit stood with a woman who was the spitting image of Shinomiya, both posing in front of a watercolor painting. The moment Hatano saw the watercolor behind the woman’s gentle smile, she was nearly swallowed by a sense of depth and immersion that felt unreal for something viewed through a camera lens.

Her heart was seized by the scene of a calm water surface, depicted in vivid pastel colors.

“She might not be a controversial artist like Banksy, so she’s probably not that familiar to the general public. But she’s famous in those circles. After all, she’s a Japanese watercolor painter holding solo exhibitions overseas. Forget watercolor; anyone involved in painting would know her pseudonym and the Shinomiya surname.”

Overwhelmed by the painting in that single photo—cluttered with many extraneous elements as noise—Hatano witnessed the achievements and skill he had called ‘top-class’ and understood. She held out the smartphone to return it.

“…She’s Shinomiya’s sister.”

“Yeah… And I, Shindo, am aiming for a reversal of fortune through Shinomiya.”

“Your info is irrelevant.”

Sharply dismissing him, Shindo gave a light shrug.

Indeed, if one could form a connection with her, there was even the possibility of lifelong security. After all, holding solo exhibitions overseas while still a university student. She wasn’t an expert in the industry, but that was monstrous.

When Hatano searched the name on her own smartphone, a long list of achievements, solo exhibitions, works, art books, and a Wiki page appeared. Glancing at a forum that caught her eye, she saw discussions about her abnormality. One post speculated that within a few years, even domestic media would start covering her.

“Quite the impressive person.”

“Really is. But regarding the Shinomiya family, it might be more accurate to say ‘that lineage’ rather than just ‘that person.'”

Pondering his words briefly, Hatano sensed their meaning.

The Wiki page for Shinomiya’s sister she had just peeked at contained such descriptions.

“Grandparents are renowned sculptors, mother is a musician, father is also a painter. Relatives include dancers, craftsmen, calligraphers—a picture-perfect artistic family. The Shinomiya clan is that kind of lineage.”

Each of the listed names comes with a link attached, and tapping on them reveals splendid, illustrious achievements. However, among them, Hatano does not find her name. Of course, there’s no reason for her, a girl who uses her charms on men and feeds off the jealousy of women in a literary club that’s practically a mixer circle to be in the same place as this renowned artist’s family.

“‘Where’s Shinomiya?’—that’s what you want to ask, isn’t it?”

Suddenly, at Shindo’s words that seemed to read her mind, Hatano returns a narrowed gaze. With an expression that suggests jokes won’t work, looking as if she wants a quick answer, Shindo opens his mouth with an air of resignation.

“You know it too. She doesn’t belong in that world. She’s not like you or Shijima, she’s completely on our side. That’s exactly why I’m trying to get close to the Shinomiya family through her.”

His words, which seemed to say this was a timely opportunity, irritated her slightly, but recognizing that as a selfish emotion, she tries to soothe her own mood. Then, thinking with a cooled head, she felt she glimpsed a fragment of the girl’s behavior as Hatano knew it.

‘Isn’t it hard? Not being recognized by anyone’—those words spoken to her, and her twisted desire for acknowledgment. And her family lineage. Putting them together wasn’t too difficult.

Her thoughts dulled as if heavy lead had filled her head, and her emotions sank. Her period should have been a bit later, but she couldn’t muster any cheer.

To sharpen her dulled thoughts, she sipped the remaining coffee, pouring caffeine into herself.

“I heard through rumors—she originally did painting like your sister, apparently. Where and how did she fall so low? For me, it’s convenient, but it’s a sad story.”

She felt anger at him describing her current state as “fallen,” but on the other hand, she sensed that he wasn’t just mocking her—there was a faint, genuine sense of loneliness in him. Hatano trampled down her smoldering emotions to extinguish them, exhaling her feelings with a hot, white sigh.

“…Wasn’t it an interesting story?”

He exhaled secondary smoke toward the stars and asked that.

Hatano shook the empty can as if stuffing down her dark emotions, then shoved it into the trash bin as if discarding her ill feelings.

“At least it wasn’t a ‘funny’ story.”